9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

PISTON

"Dammit," I mutter as a drop of water hits my forehead. "This is why it's better to do shit yourself, otherwise you end up paying an arm and a leg for someone to do the most half-assed…" The drips come faster, and I shimmy out of the way before the gush of trapped water comes pouring out. "Should have had a damn bucket too," I grumble to myself, sitting up to reach for a rag that I'm sure should be around here somewhere.

I startle when I realize I'm not alone in the kitchen. Milo has been living here four days and I haven't known him to be the quiet type so far. But this morning, he's sitting at the table without a word, staring intently at his phone with his lips parted and his eyes dancing with amusement.

"How long have you been there?" I ask, noting that he doesn't even have a coffee mug in front of him yet.

He doesn't respond right away, his eyes moving across his phone screen with intense focus.

"Hm?" he hums absently without looking up.

I chuckle, finally finding the rag to dry my hands, then tossing it under the sink so I can mop up the mess before I finish what I'm working on.

"Must be something interesting over there." The teasing has more of an edge to it than I intended. Is he talking to someone? Obviously, someone young and hot like Milo isn't going to sit around pining after a guy nearly twenty years older forever. He's new in town, he's magnetic as hell, if he has an M4M profile, he's probably getting a dozen matches a day.

My gut clenches even as I try to remind myself that Milo getting out and meeting someone is exactly what I should be hoping for. The sooner he starts dating someone else, the easier it will be to keep my hands off of him. So why does the thought of anyone else even looking at him make me want to fly into a fucking rage?

He hums again, finally tearing his eyes away from his phone and looking over at me. "Oh, I didn't know you were up."

I laugh again. "Should I be offended that you didn't notice me sprawled out on the kitchen floor with my head under the sink when you came in?"

He blinks and yawns, looking around the kitchen as if he's just now realizing he's sitting at the table.

"Shit, I was seriously hyperfocused. What time is it? Fuck, are we late to work?" His dazed expression is replaced with panic. "I can't be late on my first day. Not when you all were nice enough to give me a chance and my dad vouched for me even though I tried to warn him that I'm fucking hopeless with keeping a schedule and—"

"We're not late," I assure him.

His shoulders sag with relief and he lets out a long breath. "Oh, thank god. I need coffee." He gets up and shuffles over to the pot to pour himself a cup.

"Something interesting on your phone?" I ask again, managing to sound more casual this time even though I'm still trying not to grind my teeth at the thought of him scheduling a hookup with some pushy asshole only worried about getting himself off.

"Oh, yeah." He chuckles. "Don't ask how, but I ended up down this rabbit hole of X-rated fanfic where Gomez and Thing are a couple."

I furrow my brow, replaying his words in my head a few times and still barely making sense of them.

"How would that even work?"

Milo turns around and smirks at me over the rim of his coffee mug. "Lots of handjobs and fingering, obviously. The only part I'm still scratching my head over is what exactly the disembodied hand is getting out of it. Are handgasms a thing?" He scratches his head and shrugs. "To each their own, right?"

"Maybe the disembodied hand is just glad to make someone else happy," I say blandly, and Milo laughs again.

"I guess so."

Milo's earlier point about the time reminds me that I need to finish fixing the sink before we have to head over to Ink Slingers. I grab the new compression nut and get back into position under the sink. The sound of his footsteps padding across the kitchen floor is the only warning I have before Milo is crowding me. He puts his hand on my thigh and leans in until he's practically on top of me.

The warmth of his body sears through me instantly. I can smell the faint hint of my woodfire scented bodywash clinging to his skin, and my mouth waters with the desire to lick the coffee flavor right off his lips. My cock swells and I shift in the hope of getting his hand off me, even though in my head all I can think is, just a few inches higher.

"What are you working on?" His voice is full of innocent curiosity.

"Fixing a leak," I grunt.

"Is it hard?" His fingers twitch against my thigh.

"Getting harder by the second," I murmur, trying like hell to keep my eyes fixed on what I'm doing. It only takes a few seconds for me to fail though. I glance at Milo, his head stuffed under the sink right alongside me, his damp hair flopping into his eyes.

He meets my gaze, and my comment seems to click. He bites his lip and digs his fingers in a little more before quickly pulling his hand back.

"Sorry."

I clear my throat and dig deep to summon the willpower not to slam my mouth into his in this confined space where no one would ever see us or know our sins.

"No, it's not hard." I answer his question seriously this time. "You know anything about plumbing?"

He shakes his head. "It seemed like most of my friends learned shit like this from their dads."

"Yeah, I can relate. Arrow's dad showed me a few things, mainly auto maintenance type stuff. The rest I've picked up on my own over the years." I scoot over an inch so Milo has more space, and I start explaining what I'm doing, pointing out the parts of the P-trap I'm replacing. "I hired somebody to do it because I figured it would save me time, but the dumbass over-tightened the nut, and the damn thing cracked."

"I hate when that happens," Milo deadpans. "Maybe you can show me the right amount of pressure to use so I don't make the same mistake. I would hate to overtighten the nuts."

His hand lands on my stomach and my cock jerks.

"You're trouble, Mi," I mutter. The inches between us are evaporating by the second but I'm helpless to do anything to stop it.

Milo's breath dances over my face and fuck if our bodies wedged together doesn't feel like the best goddamn thing I've felt in ages. My lips literally ache for another taste of his. Would it be so wrong to give in just one more time? Just one little kiss couldn't make that big of a difference, could it?

The tip of my nose brushes his and my heart thunders wildly. Milo's breath comes out in soft pants, puffing against my lips.

A creak and thud send me reeling away from him at lightning speed.

"Piston, please tell me you have some regular coffee and not just that weird, flavored shit." Hero's voice rings out.

My heart jumps into my throat and I scramble out from under the sink so fast that I hit my head in the process. Milo is a few seconds behind me. By the time Hero steps into the kitchen, I'm on my feet and Milo is still in the process of getting up.

"Hi, Hero. Hey, man." I drag my hand across my roughly stubbled jaw. Do I look as guilty as I feel? If he had walked in thirty seconds later, he might have found me with my tongue down his son's throat. "Coffee? Yeah, I've got coffee. What do you want? Columbian? Nigerian? I just got a new Somalian blend," I ramble, hurrying over to the coffee cupboard to start pulling out different options for him.

"Dude, seems like you've already had too much coffee this morning." He chuckles.

"He was showing me how to fix a P-spot," Milo says.

"P-trap." I correct him with a hoarse laugh. "The P-spot is something else, that I definitely was not touching."

Hero coughs to cover another laugh. There isn't a hint of suspicion anywhere on his face or in his body language though as he joins me and starts rifling through my overflowing coffee cupboard. Why would there be? He has no reason to think I would do anything to betray his trust or hurt him.

Guilt rises in my throat like bile, and I swallow it down.

MILO

Panic and guilt are written all over Piston's face. I should probably feel the same, but all I can muster is mild annoyance that my dad showed up when he did. Okay, that does create a bit of guilt though. I moved here to build a relationship with him, not seduce Piston. I can totally multitask though. And even if I can't, how is any mortal supposed to resist this man when he has stayed up late the past three nights with me, binge-watching Cobra Kai from the first season? Also, he lets me hold his axolotl and he always smells so damn good. I'm only human.

"The Somalian blend is in the pot. It's actually really good." I pipe up to give Piston a break from rambling nervously and potentially giving us away.

Hero nods and then opens the cabinet next to all the coffee flavors to grab a mug.

"Fine, as long as it has plenty of caffeine, I'm sure I can stomach it." He pours himself a mug then sits down at the table.

Piston hovers for a minute before he practically dives back under the sink to finish what he's doing while I pull out another chair and take a seat with my dad.

"I didn't know you were coming by this morning." I pull my own mug back across the table towards me and take a sip.

"It was a bit of an impulsive decision. I figured it would be nice to drive you in for your first day of work. I didn't want Piston to feel obligated," he explains. "Speaking of which, I talked to Jag yesterday and he's got a car at his scrap yard that looks like hell but still runs fine. If you want it, I can drive you over tonight to get the keys."

"Oh, that's awesome. How much does he want for it?" I attempt a quick mental calculation of how much is left in my bank account. I should probably actually check it, because there have been a lot of little expenses over the past week. I haven't gotten an overdraft alert yet. I don't think I have, anyway.

I pull out my phone and open my texts to make sure. I have hundreds of message alerts, most of them spam, a couple from my mom that I should probably respond to… but nope, no overdraft alerts.

"Milo?" Hero's voice pulls my attention back.

"Hm? Oh, sorry, distracted for a second. How much does he want for the car?"

"I already took care of it."

"You didn't have to do that. How much was it? I'll pay you back." I pull up my banking app so I can check my balance. It's definitely dwindling, but maybe I can at least work out a payment plan with him.

"Don't worry about it," Hero says.

I frown. "I appreciate it, but I didn't come here looking for charity."

I think I said something similar when we went out to lunch and he offered to get me a job at Ink Slingers, but it's worth repeating. I don't want him to think I'm looking for him to make up for years of missed child support payments or anything. I may not be rolling in cash, but I've always managed to get by just fine.

"I know you didn't. I want to help. Please let me do this?"

I chew on my bottom lip and consider how hard to fight him on this. Piston finally slides back out from under the sink, sitting up and wiping his hands on his jeans.

"He got his club name for a reason, Mi. He loves being the hero. Do him a favor and let him have a few easy wins."

I sigh. "Yeah, okay."

Hero smiles widely. "Thanks. Like I said, don't get your hopes up for anything fancy, but it'll at least be four wheels of your own."

"Trust me, I live in the world of ‘nothing fancy,'" I assure him with a laugh.

"I knew we'd get along fine." He lifts his coffee mug and taps it against mine, then he glances at the clock. "We should probably get moving if we're going to get to the shop on time. I have an appointment first thing."

He tilts his mug to his lips and gulps down the steaming liquid, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and bushy beard when he's finished.

"Do I have a minute to get changed?" I look down at the sweatpants and t-shirt I'm still wearing. I don't want to hold him up, but it's not exactly what I was planning to wear to my first day at a new job either.

"Yeah, go ahead." He jerks his head for me to get moving. I hop up and start to hurry out of the kitchen. "Hey, kid, it's cold as a witch's tit outside, so grab a coat too."

"Shit," I mutter, stopping in the doorway. "I keep meaning to buy one."

It's not like it wasn't cold in Colorado, but I didn't spend as much time riding around on the back of motorcycles in November there.

"Hold on." Piston skirts past me, careful not to let any part of his body touch mine. He returns a minute later holding a leather jacket that's different from the one he keeps insisting I wear. This one doesn't have a club patch on it, and it smells brand new instead of like smoke and motor oil. "Here. It's an old one of mine. You can borrow it as long as you need."

The tips of his ears pink with the lie. My stomach swoops and my pulse spikes. Piston went out and bought me a jacket? Why is that so hot? I hold it up to my nose and immediately wish it was his other jacket. Would it be too greedy to ask to swap them until he can get his scent nice and worked into this one too?

He clears his throat, and I realize I'm staring.

"Thank you." My lips are tingling for that kiss I didn't get earlier, but I settle for a quick squeeze of his bicep in thanks before I slip past him to go get changed.